


Eternally Yours

by communikate



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Epistolary, Grief/Mourning, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26456257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/communikate/pseuds/communikate
Summary: In the year following the tragic news of the Kerberos mission failure, Keith writes letters to Shiro with everything he wished he could’ve said.A million lightyears from home, Shiro does the same.~~~~Shiro,I thought I should explain why I left. I never wanted it to go this way. But I couldn’tThey said it was pilot error.I couldn’tI didn’tI don’t believe them. Irefuseto believe them.But they didn’t like it when I started asking questions. Or when I broke into Iverson’s office to look at the mission logs or blackbox recordings.Because I know you’re out there. I can feel it.—Keith
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 62
Collections: Sheith Prompt Party 2020





	1. An Oasis in the Sea of Sand (Keith)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to share my piece for Sheith Prompt Party! I was ecstatic to have gotten prompt #19: During the year Keith spends in the desert after Shiro disappears, he keeps a running journal of things he wishes he could tell Shiro; Shiro, in captivity, does something similar. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Glancing in his rearview mirror, the shining image of the Garrison was slowly swallowed by the plumes of dust kicked up by his hoverbike. Under the moonlight it was a thing to behold, cast in chrome and white and built like an obelisk in the desert — something that called to men from across the world with the promise of exploration.

But there was nothing there for him now.

Keith revved the engine and leaned over the handlebars, racing out into the unforgiving desert. At least among the sand and unrelenting heat, Shiro’s smiles and expectations wouldn’t haunt him.

Or so he hoped.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
The sun blistered and burned, casting waves of heat from the dunes that distorted the mountains in the distance.

It was a miracle he found the little shack: an oasis in the sea of sand. He spotted it just beyond the hint of dawn that colored the mountain peaks to a deep navy against a backdrop of red. At first, he was certain the haphazard building was a mirage.

But with each mile closer, the image solidified. It was an ugly little thing that beckoned him out of the rising temperature. It looked like gravity weighed more heavily on the shack than it did the rest of the desert. The roof sloped and the porch sank into the sand, but Keith was grateful for the shade and the excuse to stop.

Part of him was determined to ride out into the wasteland until he ran out of gas. To just keep going until his body finally gave out.

The little shack was the kind of salvation that Keith hadn’t been anticipating, with a barrel of stored rainwater that filtered into the house.

But Keith had never really expected salvation.

Maybe that’s why Shiro surprised him so much. Why after so many people had tried to talk to him, to get him to open up about his father’s death or about the foster homes that were never unkind but never loving, that Keith finally talked.

Their friendship blossomed from Shiro’s endless patience and the willingness to just let Keith be. He supported Keith through the Garrison, rising up through the grades and chasing after the unbeatable simulation scores Shiro set. Despite his Golden Boy status, Shiro never acted like he was better than Keith or any other cadet. Even five years older, Shiro viewed Keith as a friend more than a nuisance or a lost cause.

Keith settled into the shack even though something continued to pull him, looping around his ribs and drawing his attention to the furthest mountain ridge. Something was out there. But Keith couldn’t heed its call. Not over the roar of grief in his chest — the emotion that threatened to blacken his heart and scorch his lungs.

So rather than looking for something unattainable, Keith struggled to stay alive — whether it be conjuring up the will to get out of bed or boiling the discolored water that dribbled from the pipes.

One morning when he woke with his tongue tasting like sand and his mouth drier than the desert air, Keith simply closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander.

He dreamt of waking in his small cot wrapped snugly in gray sheets, of Shiro patting him on the shoulder at breakfast and ruffling his bed head while Keith stifled a yawn. Dreamt of conquering the newest test on the simulator and passing with flying colors. Dreamt of Shiro’s proud smile. Dreamt of the stolen nights attop the Garrison roof where Keith would chart the _Persephone’s_ future course to Kerberos with Shiro at his side. Dreamt of the time his only goal was to pilot beside Shiro to the farthest reaches of their solar system. Dreamt of the days when things were simple and easy.

So that morning when he was parched for far more than water, Keith debated just trekking out into the sunshine. Collapsing to the sand with sunburn and blisters and a final wheezing breath. Letting nature take his life rather than doing something drastic by his own hand.

But before he could even pull tight the laces of his shoes, Shiro’s voice resonated in his mind:

_Keith, you can do this._

Snapping his teeth with a feral growl, Keith threw his shoe across the room. A plume of dust rose from where it landed. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. Each breath burned like he’d inhaled whiskey, threatening to set his lungs alight.

He couldn’t do this. The world was balancing on a precipice, and without Shiro to hold him down, Keith was falling over the edge.

_I will never give up on you._

A sob broke from Keith’s chest, a wet thing that clung to his throat and threatened to choke him. “Shiro,” he whimpered.

_But most importantly, you can’t give up on yourself._

“Shiro,” Keith whispered like a prayer, like an apology, like a vow.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
The next morning when he woke parched, Keith pulled a sheet of paper out from underneath the cement foot of the makeshift coffee table. It was sun-bleached, a rusted, off-white color, that felt frail beneath his fingertips. A working pen was a little harder to find, but once he found one, he pressed it to the page and froze. A splotch of ink spread from the tip. Bleeding out. Slowly.

His mind was a maelstrom of grief so enormous that it was impossible to navigate — even to just put words on paper.

But something was calling to him — from the depths of the mountains, from the farthest reaches of their universe — and Keith had to answer.

> ~~Dear~~ Shiro,
> 
> I’m sorry. ~~I got kicked out~~ I left the Garrison. I know you risked so much for me to be able to attend, but I just ~~couldn’t be in a~~ couldn’t.  
>  I hope you’ll understand.
> 
> —- Keith  
> 

It was a single paragraph, but it felt like so much more. It barely encapsulated a fraction of the consuming grief that made a home within his chest.

But it wasn’t pinning down a fragment of his loss that made the letter hard to write; the letter solidified the fact that Shiro was no longer here. Even if Keith believed that Shiro was alive out there, stranded at the edge of their solar system, he still wasn’t _here_.

And even though Shiro wasn’t at his side, Keith never wanted to disappoint him — and leaving the Garrison was the epitome of failure. All of those times he’d been dragged to Iverson’s office, a sick heaviness had settled in his stomach at the thought of facing Shiro — of finally seeing that supportive expression warp into something so much more familiar: resignation and resentment. A demeanor that had been plastered to the faces of his teachers, his foster families, and his peers since his father’s funeral. Because once the pity faded, there was nothing left but impatience and an expectation that Keith could never meet.

But Keith would rather swallow his pride and apologize to James Griffin or play nice in the simulator than disappoint Shiro.

He could only imagine all the work Shiro had to go through to get him into the Garrison. Even with his simulation scores, he had stolen an officer’s car and driven it without a license. And yet, Shiro had given him a second chance and a warm smile as he pulled out of the parking lot.

If that hadn’t already showcased Shiro’s unfailing belief in him, Commander Iverson always brought up Shiro’s career and all he risked for Keith to join the Garrison. Lording the information over Keith when he couldn’t play by the rules, when he dared step out of line, when he dared to speak up.

Iverson would shrug a single shoulder and shake his head. “Why Shirogane put his career at risk for a brat like you, I’ll never understand.” It was always muttered beneath his breath, loud enough for only Keith to hear and everyone else to speculate what the commander had said.

So to write out that he had left the Garrison, burned all of the bridges Shiro had worked so hard for him to build — Keith ached with the weight of his guilt.

But Keith couldn’t stand by when they plastered “Pilot Error” across the news and dragged Shiro’s name through the mud like they hadn’t been praising him just months earlier.

“Takashi Shirogane (25) is the Youngest Pilot to Ever Fly Beyond Saturn” quickly turned to “Is Takashi Shirogane (25) the reason behind the Kerberos Mission Disaster?”

Did they think he would stand there while they gossiped and speculated under their breath and looked at him like he was a powderkeg? While they disparaged Shiro and pried his name off awards and tore his posters from the walls and deleted him from promotional material — Was Keith supposed to just stand back and watch?

Hell no.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
Keith left the paper on the coffee table and laid back on the unsupportive couch. Closing his eyes, he heaved a sigh that felt much heavier than air. He fought the urge to crumple up the letter and use it as kindling.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> I’ve never been religious, but this situation makes me kind of wish that I was. I wish that I believed in some otherworldly power, someone that I could pray to with the belief that they could make all of this right.
> 
> But I’m also glad that I’m not religious, because if I was I think I would hate God for what he’s done to you. It’s not fair, and I don’t buy into this whole “God’s plan,” ~~bullshit~~ thing. ~~You were the only good thing in my world so how could —~~
> 
> I’m not religious, but I would pray for you. I would do anything for you to be okay.
> 
> — Keith

  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> I wonder what you would say if you saw me like this. ~~I don’t even feel like myself~~
> 
> ~~I want to wander into the desert and never return.~~
> 
> All I can seem to do is miss you. And I know, I know — patience yields focus, but I don’t believe that patience or focus could make this any easier.
> 
> — Keith

Keith sat in the fading light of twilight, scooping the powdery mashed potatoes out of his last MRE. He knew that he should be worried about finding food or about rationing the last of the cans he found in the shack’s cabinets.

But he couldn’t think beyond the stretch of the desert and the sunset that burned red on the horizon.

Soon the stars would appear, and Keith could chart their course across the sky. Summer was fading, but the heat still simmered in the sand and sweat gathered on his brow.

His most recent letter sat beside him, pinned down by a loose board on the porch. There were so many things that he wanted to say to Shiro, but each word felt insurmountable. But with each letter, something felt a little lighter in his chest.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
The next morning, Keith stumbled from bed and shoved his feet into his Garrison-regulation boots. Stepping out into the cool dawn, he tucked a bottle of water into his belt and set off into the desert. 

Even though he only caught a single lizard by the time the sun reached its peak, Keith couldn’t shake the swell of pride. It was less than a cup of meat, but it tasted better than the stolen rations he’d hidden in the back of his hoverbike.

Chewing on the end of his spoon, Keith scribbled another note at the bottom of his third letter.

>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> I caught a lizard today! Tasted kind of like chicken.
> 
> — Keith

  
It felt a little weird to write something so inconsequential to ~~a dead man~~ ~~an abandoned man~~ a man trapped at the edge of space. But it didn’t feel insignificant.

If Keith were still at the Garrison, he would’ve bragged to Shiro and enjoyed the way his face distorted in disgust. He was never one for adventurous foods, or even the Garrison meatloaf, which admittedly more closely resembled alien food than meatloaf. And Keith would laugh, uninhibited by the jealous glares of other cadets or Adam.

So maybe it was inconsequential, but Keith desired to tell Shiro anything right now, even if it was meaningless.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
Whatever good mood had come with the lizard faded by the next morning. His mouth felt caked in sand and even the sliver of light that snaked between the tattered blinds made Keith wince.

He dragged the piece of paper over and doodled in the margins. Small smiley faces and constellations that Shiro had taught him — all the stories and the connecting paths through the sky and the brightest stars.

When his fingers were stained with ink, he flipped the page onto the back and began to write another letter.

Each word that he jotted down took an enormous amount of energy, because the fog that clouded his mind dripped onto the paper with each stroke of the pen. If Shiro was here, he would be patient with Keith and let him take his time to enunciate every word and feeling.

But Shiro wasn’t here, and Keith didn’t know what else to do.

>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> ~~I thought I should explain why I left. I never wanted it to go this way. But I couldn’t~~
> 
> They said it was pilot error. ~~I couldn’t~~ ~~I didn’t~~ I don’t believe them. I refuse to believe them.
> 
> But they didn’t like it when I started asking questions. Or when I broke into Iverson’s office to look at the mission logs or blackbox recordings.
> 
> Because I know you’re out there. I can feel it.
> 
> —Keith

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time attempting CSS coding, so a major shout out to La_Temperanza's tutorials!! You can find the skin guides [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/458134)!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the CSS aspect, because I probably spent waaaaaay too much time on it haha ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚  
> I also tried to make sure that it was readable with the creator's style hidden!


	2. The Strength of Kindness (Shiro)

Shiro never imagined that this little prison cell could feel like home, a respite from the rest of the alien ship. But despite the cold floor and threadbare mattress that always felt a little damp and smelled of sweat and urine, it was heaven compared to what awaited him outside. In this cramped room, Shiro could see every corner and watch the single entrance. He was never caught unaware in his cell.

But outside —

In the arena —

Shiro buried his face in his hands and huffed an exhale. His nails were ragged and caked with dirt, but he couldn’t care as he pulled at strands of his hair and forced himself to breath steadily.

It had been a week since he’d last seen Matt and Sam Holt. A week since he’d stumbled back from the arena floor splattered in Myzax’s blood and dragged away from his comrades. A week since they’d thrown him in this little cell to rot with nothing but a new title as a reward for his _“accomplishments.”_

The first time he’d pressed his face to the slitted bars in his cell and asked a guard for information, another prisoner shushed him. Across the narrow hall, a thin blue face peaked out into the window of their cell door. During the changing of the guard, they’d hissed, “Don’t let them know who you care about.”

“Wha — why?” Shiro clung to the bars and pressed his face into the thin window, desperate for answers, for companionship.

“It never ends well.”

The next time an alarm sounded, Shiro huddled in the back of his cell and prayed that he wouldn’t be dragged before the audience, before the emperor. The hiss of another door sliding open drew his attention. Peering out of the window, Shiro watched as the guards escorted the thin, blue alien out of their cell.

He never saw them return.

It had been a week since Shiro had lost Sam and Matt, and three days since the kind alien had been sent to the arena. He had only been to the arena once, but every time the alarm sounded, his breath caught in his chest. Pressing himself to the corner of his cell, he prayed that it wasn’t him. That he wouldn’t have to face another intelligent being and battle for their lives for the sake of a dictator’s amusement.

At the sound of his door hissing open without warning, Shiro jumped to his feet and pulled his hands out of his hair.

A guard stood silhouetted in purple light on the threshold to his cell. His face was half covered by his helmet, but the visible half of his expression was curled in a sharp sneer. Tugging on a plasma lasso, he threw a slender alien into the cell.

“Enjoy the company, _Champion_ ,” the guard jeered and snapped the glowing thread from the handcuffs before allowing the doors to shut automatically behind him.

Shiro stood guard at the corner of his cell as everything stilled around him. Every sense jumped to high alert, magnifying on the alien and the room around him. He could smell the body odor that saturated his threadbare uniform and the mugginess of the stagnant air in his cell. Over the ringing of his pulse in his ears, he could hear each breath that wheezed past his lips and the steady exhale of the alien across the cell. He caught each subtle movement of the other prisoner’s arms as they picked themselves up off the floor. Each action looked deliberate, telegraphed and intended not to scare Shiro.

He wasn’t exactly sure who was the predator and who was the prey in this situation. But he certainly didn’t feel like a beast of prey.

The alien sat upright, all four arms bound in handcuffs before their chest. They looked frail in the low purple lighting of the cell, delicate arms and a wasp-thin waist with skin the color of twilight in the desert. With large eyes set in the middle of their face, they gazed up at him. “Champion, I mean you no harm. I am —”

“That’s not my name.” The harshness of his tone shocked them both into silence. His voice was ragged, either from disuse or the hushed sobs he hid in the darkness of his cell every night.

“It is how the Emperor and the guards refer to you. I can call—”

“Why?” Shiro took a step forward, towering over the alien and swallowing the strange mix of fury and fear that bubbled in his blood. “Why do they call me that?”

“You won the title when you defeated the last champion. Myzax reigned over the arena for many phoebs,” the alien explained with a gentle lilt to their voice, “until you came along.” The alien pressed their hands to the ground and tucked their chin, prostrating themselves before him. “I beg of you to spare my life.”

Shiro gritted his teeth until a spike of pain jolted up his jaw. Turning on a heel and marching to the damp mattress, he mumbled, “I won’t kill you.”

But there was a lack of conviction to his tone, because if they were thrown into the arena together, Shiro couldn’t promise anything. He’d already killed once to save Matt, to save himself. He would do whatever it took to stay alive, and he wasn’t sure if inconsequential things like promises would stop him.

So he couldn’t make promises. Not even to himself.  


~☾~☾~☾~

  
The guards only brought them one portion of food, probably expecting the alien to be dead or expecting entertainment. They peered through the small window and muttered low in a language that Shiro couldn’t understand. But a minute or two after it was clear that nothing would happen, the bustling crowd of guards dispersed with grumbled complaints. 

Shiro broke the crumbling nutrition bar into two pieces and pushed the tray over to the alien. They had huddled themselves in the corner opposite from Shiro and watched his every move. Their eyes widened at the gesture, snatching the offered food before Shiro could rethink his choice. 

They ate in silence, a tension that had permeated the cell since the alien had arrived. Normally this cell was his slice of heaven, but now, he couldn’t relax. His eye twitched, and he jumped at each little noise that echoed through the cell.

“Champion,” the alien whispered.

“Shiro,” he cut them off when a shiver coursed down his spine at the title. “My name is Shiro.”

They shifted closer, tilting their head to the side and regarding him with their bright eyes. “Shiro, thank you for the food.”

He squeezed his eyes closed and nodded sharply in response. It felt so human to be referred to by his name, to be referred to as something other than a _thing_ — a champion, a prisoner, a primitive alien.

“They call me Delphaet,” they said as they rose to their feet and took a tentative step closer to Shiro.

Shiro reared back, jumping to a low crouch, and almost hissed. More like an animal than a human. But he hadn’t felt human since he was captured. His teeth were bared as he balanced his weight on the balls of his feet.

Just because he had been kind to the alien didn’t mean he would allow himself to become prey.

They had called him the champion, and Shiro would continue to be their Champion if it meant that he would live. Even if they turned his cell, his one respite, into a secondary arena. He would live. _He would live._

Delphaet paused one hand extended and the other three tucked to their chest. Ducking their head, they curled in on themselves as if to appear less threatening. “I mean you no harm, Shiro. You have treated me with the utmost respect, and I wish to return the favor.”

“Why should I believe you?” Shiro whispered, his voice a mere husk of what it once was.

“I have no reason to fight you.” Delphaet rearranged the scrap of purple cloth that was draped across their shoulders as they sat down.

Shiro huffed and sank back onto his heels. Some of the tension drained from his shoulders, falling into the familiarity of the gentle quiet between him and Delphaet. They were seated, and Shiro knew that even if they rushed him from where they were, he would still be faster.

They both sat in silence for a minute as Shiro gradually relaxed and once again took his seat at the edge of his damp mattress.

“Shiro,” they spoke softly as not to alarm him, but he jumped anyway. “I am afraid they will call me to the arena soon. Within the movement —”

“How do—”

“I hope to entrust you with this.” They unfolded their clasped hands and reached beneath their thin prisoner garb. Pulling out a small orange rectangle, they held it out, but it was too far for Shiro to reach from his position on the edge of his mattress. “It is my communicator, and I believe that you will need it far more than I shall.”

“A communicator?”

“Yes. Do they not have these where you come from?”

Despite the instincts that demanded that he kept his eyes on Delphaet, he allowed his gaze to drop to their outstretched hand. 

“I am afraid that the Galra have blocked a majority of communication channels, but there is a chance that you can contact your home world.” Delphaet gave Shiro a gentle smile, a strange thing with their thin lips and gaunt cheeks. “I have already said my goodbyes, and I wish to give you a measure of the same kindness you’ve shown me.”

A surge of emotion overwhelmed him. Shiro swallowed harshly and hoped to dislodge the tightness from his throat. He couldn’t speak, so he nodded his head slightly.

This time when Delphaet rose to their feet and moved close enough to place a gentle hand on Shiro’s shoulder, he didn’t jump and hiss. Their skin was like silk, untextured and smooth, and almost as cold as the cell air. He flinched slightly under their touch, and watched their other three hands out of the corner of his eyes, because for as much as he wanted to be comfortable in Delphaet’s presence, he couldn’t relax.

They pressed the communicator into his hands, and the screen flickered to life beneath Shiro’s touch. The interface was similar to smartphones but the text was something he was unfamiliar with. Delphaet pressed several keys and brought up a rolling list. “You may select your language as you don’t know Galactic common.”

They were speaking so softly and quickly, glancing over topics that Shiro could’ve spent hours asking questions about.

Tilting his chin up, he met their eyes and mumbled, “Why are you—”

The alarm blared, interrupting their conversation and cutting off whatever Delphaet was attempting to explain.

Shiro couldn’t stop the reaction of curling in on himself as adrenaline and terror flooded his blood in tandem. Glancing up at Delphaet, he watched resignation settle into the fine lines of their features. They blinked their wide eyes as if holding back tears.

Turning back to Shiro, Delphaet whispered, “Hide the communicator, and don’t show any indication that we’ve talked. You’re far too kind, Shiro, and I hope that you have the strength to remain so.” They scurried to the corner they had occupied and slouched into themselves, hands linked and eyes closed.

Shiro crossed his arms and pressed the communicator into his armpit, hoping that would be enough to hide it from the guards.

Even though Delphaet had claimed that the guards would come for them alone, Shiro couldn’t stop the dread that sat low in his stomach. Each of his bones felt like lead. His heartbeat matched the rhythm of the guard’s footsteps echoing in the hallway. The sound sent a shiver searing down Shiro’s spine. And each footfall brought a guard closer and closer to his cell, his respite, his new home.

The door to his cell hissed open, and a guard stood in the threshold with a wicked smile curling his lips. “You, Oracondial,” he hissed, bright yellow eyes, glowing beneath the helmet, fixated on Delphaet, “it’s your turn in the arena.”

Without complaint, Delphaet rose from their position in the corner of the cell. Before the door could shut behind them, they gave Shiro one last glance. Their thin lips were tilted up in a smile that seemed grateful — a strange thing that had no place in the dungeons of this galactic warship.

Shiro clutched the communicator tighter and fought the urge to charge the guards and protect the one person who had treated him with humanity.

But he stayed and watched the door shut behind Delphaet. He wished that he didn’t hope for their return. Wish that he didn’t have so many questions. Wished that he didn’t crave the company of the only person who thought his kindness was a strength in this barbaric place.

But as much as Shiro hoped, Delphaet never returned.  


~☾~☾~☾~

  
In the depthless night on the alien cruiser, Shiro pulled the communicator from beneath his prisoner’s garb. The screen trembled in his hands as he switched it on. Glancing at the cell door, Shiro waited for a guard to appear — for punishment and the arena and blood to stain his hands.

But no one came. So Shiro typed a message to the only person he wanted to speak to.

**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

**Keith,**

**I want to go home.**

**T.S.**

The communicator fell to his lap as the message sat unsent in the “outbox” folder. Because there was no way to connect to his home planet, on the outskirts of the known universe, ignored by the Galra and technologically underdeveloped.

Shiro tucked his face into his knees, blocking out the flickering purple lights, and muffled his sobs. Because he just wanted to talk to Keith.

All he wanted was to be home.  
  



	3. Brick by Brick (Keith)

>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> It’s been two weeks since news of the Kerberos mission. ~~I~~ I know you’re out there.
> 
> But the Garrison announced that they are holding your funeral in two days, and I ~~don’t think I~~ can’t go. I can’t give them the satisfaction of being right after all of this. After everything they’ve done to you.
> 
> ~~But~~ I’m afraid that I’m missing the chance to say goodbye. ~~Because what if you’re really gone and I’m just imagining~~ ~~I’ve been driven crazy from grief~~ ~~what if I’m making everything worse~~ ~~what~~ ~~what if I’ve been missing you when I really should be mourning you?~~
> 
> What should I do? I wish I had listened more closely every time you gave me advice, because I know you would know what to say now.
> 
> — Keith

  
  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> How is the world supposed to feel whole without you here?
> 
> — K

  
  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
Keith dressed in his Garrison uniform: a starched orange blazer with shining lapels and pants so stiff they threatened to shave off his leg hair with each step. He donned his boots and brushed his hair. It was longer than regulation now, long enough to be pulled in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. Glancing in the mirror, he saw a reflection he was familiar with: a reflection that had greeted him every morning before he greeted Shiro. But now, there was nothing behind his eyes — just a tired puffiness that never seemed to fade, no matter how much or how little he cried.

Strapping his knife to his thigh, Keith marched out of the shack and onto the back of his hoverbike.

The engine idled for a couple minutes as Keith pulled his goggles low over his eyes and set his sights on the west. The Garrison lay over mountains of sand and stone, set in the middle of the desert like its explorers — parched for everything but desire and ambition.

Truthfully, Keith wanted to be anywhere else.

He parked next to a line of cars that were slowly surrounding the Garrison. News vans parked as close to the gates as possible while employees pulled out equipment and reporters touched up makeup or read over notes. A large banner hung from the open gates, one of the old promotional posters; Shiro’s face was printed with a boyish smile, standing before the _Persephone_ with a helmet tucked under one arm. Sam and Matt stood at his side, both wearing similar expressions of unabashed excitement.

Keith took a hesitant step forward, caught between conflicting emotions.

He wanted to collapse beside Shiro’s coffin and beg that his instincts were correct — that Shiro was still out there. He wanted to press his face into Adam’s shoulder and cry for their loss. He wanted to tear down the banner that the Garrison proudly displayed, because how dare they brandish Shiro’s face after everything they’d done, damning him and slandering his name.

“The boss really wants us to ask all these questions at the press conference?” a reporter mumbled to herself, showing the paperwork to a staff member setting up a camera. He shrugged his shoulders in response. “I mean, it’s right after the funeral. God, I hate when he sends me shit like this.” She groaned and ran a hand through her styled hair.

“What question is it?” Keith asked before he could stop himself. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, either to hide their trembling or to curb the urge to destroy the Garrison brick by brick with his bare hands.

“Oh,” she turned to face him, red lipstick jarring against the colorlessness of the desert at noon. “I’m sorry. Are you a cadet here? Did you know Takashi Shirogane or the scientists on the Kerberos mission?”

Keith gritted his teeth and swallowed back the bile that rose at the back of his throat. “Yeah. So what’s your question?”

“I don’t know if it’s appropriate to—”

“What is it?” He stepped forward, gazing up at her with a growl forming at the back of his throat.

Clearly shaken by the ferocity in his voice, she ruffled her papers and cleared her throat, “‘With his recently disclosed degenerative disease, was Takashi Shirogane actually cleared to fly the _Persephone_ or was his medical exam skipped due to his fame and the advertising value for the Garrison.’” Her voice shrank with each word.

Outrage caught in Keith’s lungs like a gasp. The sheer audacity that this woman would ask such a question.

Is this what the world thought of the Garrison’s fallen golden boy? That he would endanger the lives of his crew for the sake of his vanity and pride? That Shiro would allow the Garrison to push him forward without thought of his health?

Keith knew that Shiro had passed his medical exam with flying colors, because it was a constant rebuttal to Adam’s arguments. 

Before he could scoff off her questions as some ridiculous theory the press had cooked up, a startling thought occurred to him. How did she even know about Shiro’s degenerative disease? How would news outlets know of confidential medical information? It wasn’t common knowledge at the Garrison. Nor were there even hushed whispers about Shiro’s condition.

It was confidential, so how did they know?

Keith gasped and held the air tight inside his lungs. He bit back the urge to scream and demand to know who her source was — so that his curled fists could find an outlet for his grief — but he already knew the answer.

It only made the story of “pilot error” more plausible.

And even if releasing medical information was against the law, it wasn’t like the Galaxy Garrison had the cleanest record.

“Thanks,” Keith mumbled and turned back towards his hoverbike. With each step away from the Garrison, his hands unclenched at his sides. Settling his goggles back in place, Keith drove back into the desert.

Rather than attending a press conference disguised as a funeral, Keith curled back up in bed without even bothering to kick the sand off his boots.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> I couldn’t attend your funeral. It was just a marketing scam from the Garrison’s PR department.
> 
> I did debate crashing and popping out of your coffin like a zombie. ~~Maybe when~~ If you ever read these, maybe that plan will make you smile.
> 
> — Keith

  
  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> ~~Adam sent me a message.~~ Adam sent me a message, because I didn’t attend your “funeral.” He supposedly called the home I was at before to see if I’d turned up on their doorstep. I’m 18 so it’s not like I could go back...even if I wanted to. ~~And I don’t want to.~~ So he messaged me to see if I was alright.
> 
> I don’t know if I can respond.
> 
> ~~He just believed so easily, and I can’t~~ He bought into the Garrison’s claims so easily. But he and I both know that you wouldn’t have let anything happen to the Holts. Maybe it’s because he’s older or because he’s in too deep with the Garrison top brass, but I don’t believe it. Not for a second.
> 
> And maybe it’s because I’m a little bit petty. I don’t think I could face him if he says anything close to “I told you so,” ~~because~~ ~~especially with the rumors the press are circulating now about your disease.~~
> 
> I hope that wherever you are, that you’re able to find peace.
> 
> —Keith

  
Leaning back against the couch, Keith scrubbed a hand through his hair and glanced out the propped-open door. As the summer began to end, the nights were cooler outside than inside the shack. It made the shack almost tolerable in the Arizona heat.

It also made it clear that even though Shiro was gone, time continued to move on. And maybe Keith was the only thing standing still.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> The desert reminds me of all of our hoverbike rides. Like the day I finally jumped the cliff. I don’t think I’d laughed that hard in years.
> 
> I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard since.
> 
> — Keith

  
It was more of a bundle of loose, stained pieces of paper than it was a diary. The pages were more crumpled that the elegant stationary pining ladies of the Victorian area must have written their love letters upon — not that any of these were love letters.

They constantly rested on the makeshift coffee table with a large stone that Keith had found in the middle of one of his foraging trips pinning them down.

At night before he slept, Keith would run his fingers over the uneven edges, wondering at how much thicker the pile would become until he saw Shiro again?  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> I don’t know if it gets easier or harder with each passing day. 
> 
> It still doesn’t feel real. That you’re gone — ~~well, you’re not here at least, so you’re gone in some sense of the word.~~
> 
> I know you’re not out here in the desert with me, but it almost makes it easier to forget that you’re gone. Like, I can imagine that you’re waiting for me at the Garrison or that I’m waiting for you to pull your hoverbike around so we can race down the canyon. ~~It’s easier to be here than at the Garrison.~~
> 
> Did I ever tell you that the Garrison had a huge poster of you up at your “funeral?” Of course, it was the one you hated — with the Garrison’s logo photoshopped onto your shirt and the too-white smile and creepy editing they did to your eyes. It looked even more like it followed me when it was enormous. Thinking about it now makes me think of the time that Adam and I stole one of your cardboard cutouts and hid it in your closet.
> 
> Fuck — how do even happy memories make me cry?
> 
> I just ——-  
> 

  
  



	4. The Exhilarating Consequences of Life (Shiro)

**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**I remember one of the nights before the Kerberos launch, we talked about all the things I would miss from Earth. I think the food was top of the list, because — as we both know — space rations aren’t the most appetizing.**

**I thought the sights, the stars, being on the edge of our solar system would consume all of my other thoughts.**

**But something happened. I’m sure the Garrison has already spread some cover story, because no one would believe it was aliens. I hardly believe it myself, and I’m trapped in one of their prison cells right now.**

**I wish that I could give you good news. I wish that I could tell you about planets Earth has never seen before, stars billions of lightyears away, of new lifeforms that are intelligent and curious. I wish that I could twist this story into something it’s not.**

**It makes me wish that I had listened to Adam.**

**But if I hadn’t, I know that Matt and Sam would be dead. Not that I know where they are now, but — but at least I gave them a fighting chance, right?**

**I would give anything to be on Earth with you right now.**

**Anything.**

**Fondly,**  
**Shiro**

The communicator sat awkwardly in his hand, and the message read like something between a twisted sci-fi show and a love note. But Shiro couldn’t bring himself to delete it or fill in all of the missing gaps in the story (the blood on his hands, the weight of Delphaet’s sacrifice, the looming dread of being dragged to the arena again).

He wasn’t sure if he could write that all down. To solidify everything that happened. To make a detached mission log of all of the events, like the thought of Myzax’s death didn’t make bile bubble at the back of his throat.

So he pressed send on the message and ignored the error that popped up on the screen.

Curling in on himself, he attempted to lull himself into a semblance of sleep.  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**I think it’s been 18 days since the Galra ship stumbled upon us on Kerberos. A meager 18 days, and it feels like the whole world has collapsed around me.**

**But I was thinking about cool things I could tell you. Unfortunately, the aliens don’t have any better rations than the Galaxy Garrison does, and I haven’t been able to catch a lot of entertainment. But what I’ve seen has been barbaric.**

**If I wasn’t traveling through space at incredible speeds and seeing technology centuries beyond what humanity is capable of, I would assume they were uncivilized. There must be endless opportunities for entertainment with the apparent limitlessness of their tech. But maybe it’s because they’re so advanced that they’ve fallen into these barbarous ways.**

**Maybe that’s what humanity is destined for. Once all of our movies are too fictional for amusement, we’ll turn to live sports, live action, and the exhilarating consequences of life and death.**

**Maybe it’s also the endless time I have to myself here that makes me question the truth of humanity. It also makes me think of you, and how no matter what the world threw at you, you stood strong. No matter how many times you were knocked down, you got back up. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, and at times like this, I hope that I can have a fraction of your strength.**

**Fondly,**  
**Shiro**

  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Day 19:**

**Keith,**

**I think the ship hit some turbulence — which is a strange thing to say about a technologically advanced spaceship.**

**Part of me hoped that there were rebels attacking the Galra and their monstrous dictator. Even if the ship was destroyed and I was launched into the cold void of space, if I knew he was being killed alongside me, I think I would smile.**

**The food is stale today. Or maybe that’s how it always tastes — bland and hard and flavorless.**

**I want to press my face between the bars and speak to the others. I’m so desperate for companionship and conversation. But I’ve already been warned more than once that kindness is only treated as weakness and leverage here.**

**But you’re my little secret, tucked into the folds of my uniform and kept safe from watching eyes.**

**Some nights when I’m able to dream something other than nightmares, I imagine that these messages have gone through and you’ve sent me a response. Your words bring me peace, even if they aren’t about you gallivanting across space and time to find me. But I know that you would commandeer the first Garrison space-ready vehicle and chase after me even if you only had a fragment of these messages in your possession.**

**Thankfully, the thought of that makes me smile — probably due to the impossibility of you following and being caught by the Galra too.**

**I can only hope that Kerberos was far enough from Earth that the Galra will never discover our little planet. If entertaining these barbaric aliens keeps you safe, then I think I can continue on.**

**Fondly yours,**  
**Shiro**

  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**They sent me into the arena agai n. Myy hands are shaking as I type this .**

**It wasn’t like the first tiem.**

**Myzax was a champion of the arena. But this th**

**They begged for their life. They knew who I was — who I had become. _The Emperor’s Champion_ , like it is a title to be proud of. I’ve become a monstrous thing, something so alien to myself — which is ironic because I’m trapped on an alien spaceship. Did I not mention that?**

**I don’t even know what I’ve written to you and what I’ve just dreamed of writing to you. It’s hard to sort out everything in my mind when it feels like I can’t even breathe.**

**I have to kill for their entertainment, to keep myself alive. But after killing today, I hardly know if it’s worth it.**

**T.S.**

  


Shiro dropped the communicator into his lap and stared at his hands. They’d hosed him down after. The black blood had splattered all over his uniform, like ink, like a stain that they couldn’t just wash away. His fingers trembled, and he swore that he could see the blood that had seeped into the creases of his palms.

He curled in on himself and waited for exhaustion to claim him.  


~☾~☾~☾~

  
He didn’t receive rations. No guards marched by his cell door or attempted to push a tray of food through the slot at the bottom.

And Shiro knew this was meant to be a punishment.

Because he hadn’t made it entertaining enough. He hadn’t played with the alien that sunk to their knees and clasped their hands in prayer — like Shiro was an avenging angel or the god of death.

They begged for a quick end. Their voice was almost drowned out by the emphatic boos of the crowd. Trash soared into the arena and scattered by their feet. The sand around the alien’s knees trembled as Shiro took a step forward. Their back arched like they were waiting for the first blow, for the torture, for the play.

But he finished it in one strike. Severed the alien’s head from their body with the strong swing of his right arm.

The crowd had gone silent for a moment before the curses and hisses boomed through the arena. Guards rushed from their positions and ushered Shiro to the showers and back into his cell. There were grumbles of discontent, of bets lost and money owed.

But even now as he cowered in the corner of his cell, stomach aching from the lack of food, Shiro couldn’t find it in himself to regret his decision.  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Dear Keith,**

**Day 21.**

**Keith, I wish for so much that I ache with it.**

**I wish that I was home. That I was with you. That you were here. That none of this ever happened. That I will live. That I can survive another day. That I can make it home to you. That I can make it home to you without losing myself. That I have the strength to keep fighting — against the Galra, against each opponent, against myself.**

**And I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.**

**T.S.**

  
  



	5. The Visage of Grief (Keith)

As the stack of papers had steadily grown, the days that Keith found himself desperate to disappear into the unforgiving heat of the desert became infrequent. So rather than relying on the letters as the only way to calm the grief within, Keith turned to them as a form of comfort — companionship when the desert provided none.

>   
> Shiro,
> 
> I’m so sunburned that it hurts to even feel heat on my skin. It makes me wish this shack was air conditioned. Do you think if I answered Adam back he would bring me a fan or something?
> 
> I’m just kidding. I would rather roast in this ugly shack before letting the Garrison know I’m living this close.
> 
> — Keith

  
He pulled on the collar of his shirt as a bead of sweat trapised down his spine. The weather was only getting hotter before the nights would cool into something peaceful. Keith grabbed at his canteen and drank the last drops.

With a grunt, Keith peeled himself off the floor and began setting up to purify more of the water that dribbled out of the pipes. The new mundane activity of preparing his own water helped to settle him. He wished that it helped settle the guilt in his stomach too.

He couldn’t help but feel guilty over ignoring Adam’s messages. Even if Adam had lost Shiro before the _Persephone_ broke the atmosphere, there was a difference between breaking up and dying. They had both lost Shiro.

But the potential that the Garrison would also find out how closely he was living, made Keith wary of responding to Adam.

He couldn’t imagine leaving this dilapidated shack. It felt more like home than any other place did — with his dad gone, with Shiro gone. The sensation of belonging settled deep into his bones, even as something called to him from the depths of the mountain ranges and pulled his gaze away from the night sky.

Wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, Keith shook off thoughts of guilt and set out to make drinking water.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
  


>   
> Shiro,
> 
> To be honest, I’m running out of food. I’ve eaten all of the expired cup-of-noodles in the cabinet and the cans of soup. I’ve been trying to avoid the heat and the sun with my sunburn since it only seems to get worse each time I go out foraging.
> 
> I’ve caught a couple more lizards and snakes since I wrote that last letter, but it’s more of a pain to get the meat off of their bones than it’s worth. And they’re fucking fast so it’s almost not worth it.
> 
> It makes me wonder if that back door to the Garrison kitchen is still open. Makes me remember how we would sneak in after all of our late night hoverbike rides. Adam would berate us for missing dinner, but stealing from the kitchen was almost more satisfying.
> 
> That makes me remember your laugh and how sneaky you were, even while you pretended to be the Garrison’s golden boy. They always wanted you to be perfect and tried to hide the adventurous side of you — even though that was the part that made you so driven to go to space.
> 
> Now, they want to paint you as something else entirely.
> 
> Maybe if I was someone else, ~~respectable with a good reputation like you tried to help me become~~ I could stand up in front of the press and tell them the truth. I could tell them all about the Garrison, and how you were the kindest and most honorable person I’ve ever met.
> 
> But I know they wouldn’t believe me.
> 
> They would look into my past and see everything that made me so “unadoptable.” They would see my disciplinary record from the Garrison and the report of me stealing your car, and I would be discredited in a minute.
> 
> If I could, I would. But I’m afraid that the Garrison will only use our friendship as another means to slander you. And I don’t know if I could live with myself if I became a means of destruction for you.
> 
> — K

~☀~☀~☀~

  
  


>   
> Shiro,
> 
> Well, you know how I was running out of food and water? I was debating how to get supplies from the nearest town with little to no money. Or how to break into the Garrison kitchen like the good old days.
> 
> But I found a solution.
> 
> I’m not exactly sure you’ll be proud of me, but right now, I’m so ecstatic that I couldn’t care less. I think they deserved it anyway.
> 
> I robbed a Garrison supply truck.
> 
> You’re not going to believe this — actually, maybe you will believe this. But I had seen a couple in passing. It’s hard not to notice the bright metal surface of the vans, shining like mirrors, as they drive through the desert on schedule every two weeks. (We both know how much the Garrison loves its schedules haha).
> 
> So I rigged a couple explosives — THEY WERE HARMLESS! They were more like flash grenades from some of the supplies that were lying around the shack — and the trucks had to stop for repairs or to check the road or whatever Garrison procedure is for something like that. They won’t notice a couple crates of food and water missing.
> 
> You might not be proud of me, but I’m pretty damn proud. Those motherfuckers deserved it.
> 
> — K

~☀~☀~☀~

  
  


>   
> Shiro,
> 
> So Adam messaged me. Again.
> 
> Supposedly the supply trucks have dashboard cameras or something, and they got a glimpse of me. Adam said that he wouldn’t rat me out if I went to meet with him at a coffee shop or something.
> 
> It feels like a bullshit reason to me, but Adam’s never been that kind of person, you know? ~~Sorry. Of course, you know.~~
> 
> I’m not giving the supplies back though. ~~The Garrison can suck my~~ The Garrison can eat shit before I give them anything.
> 
> — K

~☀~☀~☀~

  
  


>   
> Shiro,
> 
> Want the good news or the bad news first?
> 
> Knowing you, it’ll always be the bad news. You’re too pragmatic for your own good.
> 
> Bad news: I punched Adam.
> 
> Other bad news: he knows where the shack is which might raise a problem if the Garrison ever finds out. Admittedly, I think I’m on private property, so the Garrison can’t say I’m trespassing. ~~Yeah, did I mention that I’m not allowed on Garrison property? Because of my “dishonorable discharge”~~  
>  ~~In my opinion, they’re the dishonorable ones~~
> 
> The good news is that Adam seems pretty chill about the whole thing. I don’t know how else to explain it. You know him — he’s never been very “chill.” Always one for the rules and the ease of staying in line.
> 
> But he seemed almost happy about me living so close.
> 
> Our talk in town didn’t go so well today. We blew up at each other. He was yelling, and I was yelling, and then we both got kicked out of the coffee shop. It wasn’t pretty.
> 
> It’s hard to explain, but I think we both understand each other a little better now. At first, I couldn’t fathom why Adam would stay with the Garrison. ~~Sometimes I still can’t.~~ But I know he’s staying for you. Just like I’m out in the desert for you.
> 
> We’re both coping in our own ways.
> 
> I know. I know. You’re wondering why I punched him if we came to an understanding.
> 
> Well, I stormed out of the coffee shop and took off on my hoverbike before Adam could say another word. So imagine my surprise when I’m back at the shack for 10 minutes when someone knocks on the front door. Of course, Adam had followed me back.
> 
> I just kind of lost it ~~thinking about how the Garrison could take this place away from me~~ ~~thinking about how the Garrison could~~ ~~You’re already so far away, but here it feels like you —~~
> 
> Adam didn’t even try to fight back. He rolled his jaw and opened his arms, and here’s the worst news of all: I cried like a baby in Adam’s arms. I think he cried too.
> 
> I think that maybe that’s what a funeral is supposed to be about — mourning with others ~~rather than a press conference to deal with the scandal they’ve created.~~
> 
> It was good to see him. He honestly looked kind of like shit ~~and not because I punched him.~~ I don’t think grief looks good on either of us.
> 
> We ended on good terms. He agreed to bring me a battery powered fan, and I agreed to message back more often. He also ~~threatened~~ ~~blackmailed~~ manipulated me into letting him know when I’m running out of groceries so that I don’t have to rob more Garrison supply vans.
> 
> I told him that I could pay for my own groceries. But he’s almost as stubborn as you, ~~and it almost makes me wonder how you dated for so long.~~ He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I couldn’t really think of a good argument when he told me that he would be taking the money out of what is left of your life insurance. He said that you would’ve wanted that. That you would’ve wanted to make sure that I was taken care of.
> 
> I just ——
> 
> I don’t even know what to say, Shiro.
> 
> I’d trade all the money in the world for just one more chance to see you.
> 
> —K


	6. A Boy Who Loves You (Shiro)

**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Dearest Keith,**

**There are so many things that I wish I could tell you, and it’s awful that I only have the strength to say them now.**

**I love you.**

**I don’t know why that was so hard to say back on Earth. Maybe it was the vestiges of my relationship with Adam, or trying to be the proper instructor and Garrison representative. Or maybe it was society and decorum and the worry that I was too old for you, too scorned to be with someone as bright and fiery as you.**

**But I should’ve said it before I left.**

**I wish I had kissed you too. I wonder if that would’ve been your first kiss. You never really talked about crushes or anything, so I wonder.**

**Do you know that Adam used to joke about you having a crush on me? Something about hero-worship?**

**But even back then when you were a brat of a kid, I knew you didn’t see me like that. It seemed like you were the only one to see past the “Golden Boy” facade. That’s probably why I found it so funny when you stole my car, and maybe why I was so determined to see you at the Garrison. You really reminded me of myself.**

**That’s also probably why I found it so easy to show you my favorite spots in the desert, to sneak out hoverbikes and race until our mouths were filled with sand from smiling too much.**

**It was then, when you first jumped off the cliff for the first time that I knew it wasn’t any kind of hero-worship.**

**That’s what made it so easy to be around you. There were some days that being the Garrison’s golden boy — _The Takashi Shirogane_ — was too much. It felt like even a single mistake would take me out of the running for the Kerberos mission. That one misspoken word would destroy the Garrison’s reputation, that a scandal would cost a million dollars to patch up and it would be from my words.**

**You know that I didn’t go into piloting for the glory or the fame. I just wanted to travel to space. I still want to explore more than the inside of an arena and prison cell.**

**And I think that was one of the reasons that I fell in love with you. You always pushed me in new ways. Always—**

**Oh god, the guards are coming for me. But the alarm didn’t sound. Why? Why are they taking me?**

**Keith, I don’t know if I’ll**

  


Shiro couldn’t finish writing the letter, tucking the communicator into the torn side of his bedroll just before his cell door hissed open. Three guards with sneers on their faces stood silhouetted in the purple light of the hallway.

“Time to go Champion.”

They activated his handcuffs and grabbed the plasma wire between them to drag him from his cell.

“Where are you taking me?” Shiro hissed, all growl and ferocity that filled him instinctively as they pushed him through the hallways.

One of the guards leaned forward, breath smelling like week-old rations and fermentation, “We’re taking you for some improvements. It seems Haggar’s grown bored with her current toys.”  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**I didn’t think they could take anything else from me.**

**I thought them taking my humanity would be the last straw. I thought them sticking me in a cell to rot, forcing all of my baths to be humiliating sprays from freezing cold water that threatens to tear off my skin, feeding me nothing but slop I have to eat with my hands like an animal, making me live in my own filth. I thought all that was enough before they made me kill innocents, aliens that never fought back that were too weak with disease or fatigue to even stand. I didn’t think there was anything else to take.**

**But I was wrong.**

**I was so so wrong.**

**T.S.**

  


He couldn’t even type the words, not with the taste of sedative on his tongue or the remnants of pain that flashed through his arm. The limb ached with a phantom pain that even Haggar’s newest artificial one couldn’t quell. It almost didn’t feel real, not with the responsiveness of the fingers and the way sensation still lingered in every aspect of the mechanical plating.

It was heavier, almost burdensome, compared to the ease of his natural arm. But maybe that was the weight of loss.

Tucking the communicator back into his armpit, Shiro turned his eyes to the ceiling of his cell. If he didn’t look down, he could pretend it all was a nightmare.  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**I couldn’t tell you this in my last message, but they took my arm.**

**I don’t even know how to explain it.**

**Haggar is Zarkon’s witch, his second in command, and her favorite pastime, other than destroying worlds and wreaking havoc on the greater universe, is experimentation. And it seems that I have become her latest subject.**

**She took my arm. My right arm. There was nothing wrong with it.**

**And she replaced it with a prosthesis, but it feels more like a weapon than anything else.**

**Is that all that I’m becoming?**

**T.S.**

  


~☾~☾~☾~

  
Shiro kept his arm at a distance, as far from his face and neck as possible, like it was a scorpion fused with his fingertips.

Haggar had demonstrated the arm’s power when he was coming down from the powerful drugs she’d pumped into his system. Grabbing a hold of his wrist, she’d activated something within the whirring machinery of the prosthesis. The hand — _his right hand_ — illuminated in a blinding purple. With a dark twist to her features, she’d gently pushed his hand through the edge of the examination table, and it cut with ease.

The smell of burning metal saturated the air as the taste of copper coated Shiro’s tongue. His cheek ached from where his teeth had sunk in, but it was all he could do to stop the horrified scream from ripping from his chest.

Her mouth was tilted up in a mockery of a smile, but it was too big and too manic to be considered anything else.

“Now you’ll truly be my Champion.”

Her laugh followed him into his nightmares.  


~☾~☾~☾~

  
The first time they sent him into the arena after the surgery, Shiro held his hand out to the guard for a weapon. It was the normal procedure, one that Shiro was scarily familiar with now:

The alarm sounds and the guards pull him from his cell. They march him to the gates. Beside the wide doors were screens that projected the arena and the cheering crowd and the Emperor that sat patiently with a soft scowl on his face. The guards would press a weapon of their choice into Shiro’s hands and send him out into the arena.

But this time, there was no weapon.

It was just him, his newly attached arm, and an alien that rivaled the size of Myzax. Spittle dripped from their jowls, dangling low over yellowed, pointed teeth. They tipped their head back and roared, sending globs of spit spraying the crowd, before they charged. Swinging a knife bigger than Shiro, they attempted to end this fight in a single hit.

Part of him longed to stop moving, to let the blade split him into two, to stop the persistent agony and the phantom pain that echoed in his new mechanical arm.

But the part of him that wrote letters to Keith, that dreamed of racing hoverbikes once again, that longed for freedom and exploration beyond the metallic walls of this ship, continued to dodge. It was that part, the part that refused to become fodder for the Garla’s entertainment, that activated his right hand. That drove the glowing fist through the blade and into the eye of the alien. That tore flesh from bone until the creature stopped moving and the sword landed in the bloodied sand.

Shiro raised his fist to the sky and screamed his victory. The alien’s blood bubbled at his lips and splattered on his tongue.

It tasted like survival.  


~☾~☾~☾~

**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**They sent me to the arena again, and they only gave me this new arm to defend myself.**

**But I won. I won, baby.**

**Yours,**  
**Shiro**

  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**I don’t know what day it is. Last I counted it was day 21, but it’s been so long since then. Or maybe it hasn’t. I don’t know anymore.**

**It’s the middle of the night cycle on the ship. I can’t sleep — not that that is a new occurrence — and I was thinking about you.**

**I used to wonder what it would be like to hold you. To hold your hand or sling my arm around your shoulder and parade around the Garrison with you by my side. I imagined what it would be like to cradle you to my chest as I kiss you, to enjoy the warmth of your skin against mine.**

**But now I wonder if I should even try to hold you with a body like this.**

**I feel like I’m being remade from the inside out and the outside in. Haggar twists and turns me to mold me into her champion, and the arena bends and breaks me to form me into a war-hardened warrior.**

**I feel nothing like myself.**

**I wish that I could go back to simply pretending to be the Garrison’s golden boy. I know that I’ve talked about the weight of that title, the fear of taking a single misstep, but I would trade that a thousand times over for this. Because at least back then, I felt like myself.**

**Now, I don’t even know what I am. Can I still say that I’m just a boy who loves you?**

**Yours,**  
**Shiro**

  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**Haggar says that she’s making me stronger. But it doesn’t feel like that.**

**Everytime they drag me from my cell, I almost wish it was to the arena rather than to her labs. At least in the arena I can feel strong, in control. But Haggar just does as she pleases.**

**She found out about my degenerative disease and tsked at the discovery, like I had broken her favorite toy. For a moment, I was almost glad. For a moment, I was grateful for my disease, because at least it would save me from further torment.**

**But she just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Well, I’ve always liked a challenge.”**

**Now, even my bones feel heavy with the weight of it all.**

**I feared not being able to return to you when they made me fight in the arena. I felt like some monstrous thing, but now I look like it too.**

**I don’t know if it’s her, Keith, but I’ve become so vicious in the arena. I don’t care how many I have to cut down to live. I don’t have time for pity or remorse. The strong survive, and I — I win. I win, and I almost smile, and that sickens me more than anything.**

**I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to face you like this.**

**T.S.**


	7. Parched and Desperate and Longing (Keith)

>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> Adam delivered groceries again, and then he proceeded to try to clean the shack and act like a mother. It feels worse than a room inspection. But I know it’s because he cares, and it’s strange to have someone else who cares about me.
> 
> I know that we were all friends at the Garrison, but it always felt like I was your friend and Adam was your boyfriend. I kind of accepted that just because we both ~~lov~~ cared about you, it didn’t mean that Adam and I had to be friends. Makes me wish that I’d tried harder when you were here.
> 
> ~~But it~~ It is nice to have a conversation with someone who will actually respond. Don’t get me wrong, I ~~love~~ enjoy writing letters to you
> 
> Well, it would be nice to talk to Adam if he didn’t constantly complain about me not eating my vegetables or potentially getting scurvy.
> 
> There are moments when he’s talking that I glance around the room hoping to catch your eye so that we can both raise an eyebrow and hide our grins and laughter. Somehow missing you hurts more when Adam is there. Is it because I know he misses you too?
> 
> — K

  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> ~~Supposedly Adam has a new boyfriend. His name is Curtis, and from Adam’s descriptions he seems nice. They’ve only been on a couple dates, but Adam is hopeful that —~~
> 
> ~~Fuck, I don’t even know why I’m writing this. That’ll probably make you more upset than anything. But I don’t know.~~
> 
> ~~Is it rude to say that I always thought you deserved better than Adam? I bet that’s extra rude to say that now that Adam and I are kind of friends. But it’s true. You deserve someone who’s willing to support you and your dreams rather than try to hold you back. I’ve always ——~~
> 
> ~~What am I even saying?~~
> 
> Missing you extra today.
> 
> — K

  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> It’s my birthday today. Yay?
> 
> I’m officially no longer a teenager.
> 
> I’ve never been the type that wanted a birthday party, but I keep thinking back on all of the birthday’s I had with you. How that first year, my sixteenth birthday, you brought me a simple cupcake with a candle in it. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me.
> 
> I would trade a million birthdays for the chance to hear your voice again ~~even if it’s just in my dreams~~
> 
> ~~I feel like I’m slowly forgetting what your laugh sounds like or what your smile looks like. Even though I close my eyes and picture you with every heartbeat, it seems like you’re drifting through my fingers like sand, and the more I try to grab hold, the faster I lose you.~~
> 
> —K

  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
Keith scrubbed the palm of one hand against his eye and wished that the burn of tears wasn’t such a familiar sensation. His chin trembled, and his sigh was more of a whimper than an exhalation. He felt weary and bone-tired in a way that he couldn’t even describe.

At the thought of Shiro lost in the abundance of space, Keith struggled to breathe. His heart raced and something so visceral within him ached at the force of it.

Everything felt too large for his fragile ribs to hold.

Writing the letter felt like exhaling.

>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> I just can’t help it anymore. I know it’s not a secret, but ~~I love you.~~ I miss you so much, and it kills me everyday.
> 
> — K

Sniffling, Keith pulled back enough to prevent any tears from warping the ink. And for the first time in many days, Keith allowed himself to cry — for Shiro, for the life he should’ve had and the time they missed, for the days spent burning in the desert with nothing but the memory of a man that may never return.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and before Keith could hide the letters or his tears, Adam strode into the shack with an armful of groceries.

They both froze.

“Keith—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” There was a tremble to his voice that was clear over the wind whistling by the shack. Without meeting Adam’s gaze, Keith slowly gathered up all of his letters. It looked like a pile of stained and crumbled pages, but it meant so much more than that.

Adam sighed, walked across the room, and placed the groceries on the small countertop space. “We don’t have to talk about anything.”

Keith nodded jerkily as he straightened the pages and placed them beneath the paperweight he’d found months ago.

They sat in silence as Adam slowly put away all of the groceries. Keith scrubbed at his eyes and focused on evening out his breathing, until the enormous ache in his chest settled into something he could breathe around.

“Are you writing to him?”

Keith jumped at the sound of Adam’s voice. Turning sharply, Keith glanced over the back of the couch to pin Adam with a harsh glare. His voice was barely above a growl when he spoke, “What did you say?”

“Keith, I just thought,” Adam shrugged towards the pile of papers neatly pinned beneath the desert rock, “it was nice. I’ve been rewatching all of his favorite TV shows, so I get it.”

“You don’t understand,” Keith mumbled beneath his breath, because even after all these months, the bitterness of Shiro and Adam’s breakup settled low in Keith’s stomach.

“You’re not the only one who loved him, Keith.” Adam’s voice was quiet, but there was a harsh edge he was familiar with. It was the sharpness that followed any daring hoverbike trip where Shiro had to spend the next day downing pills every four hours to cope with the stress on his joints. It was the sharpness that always belied worry and care. “Just because — just because we wanted different things doesn’t mean that I didn’t care about him. I still do.”

Keith swallowed back the bitterness and allowed his gaze to drop to the floor. There was a wave of sand across the floor from the open door, like the tide had come in and covered the wood in a passing of grit. Adam’s footprints were visible in the sand: Garrison-issued boots with the steel toe and podiatrist approved insoles.

Adam sighed softly, and Keith watched as the tips of Adam’s shoes appeared in his downcast line of sight. A rough hand settled in his hair. It was a gentle touch, and Keith settled beneath its unfamiliar weight.

Tears welled in his eyes at the warmth between them. Adam spoke delicately, like he was afraid to scare Keith away even with the volume of his voice, “But you’re right, I don’t understand. I don’t love Takashi like you do, and I don’t know if I ever have.”

Keith’s chin jerked up. “What?”

“Keith, not all of us are as oblivious as Takashi,” Adam chuckled with a fondness that smoothed out the severe lines of his face. There was a softness to his expression that Keith hadn’t seen before. “Seeing you write all these letters to him makes me hopeful that you’re right about the Kerberos mission.”

“So you don’t believe —”

“Pilot error?” Adam finished with a skeptical raise to his eyebrow. “Not a fucking chance. But — but I can’t be so sure that something didn’t go wrong and the Garrison is using him to cover it up.”

Keith pulled out from under Adam’s hand, creating enough distance to be able to analyze his expression. “Then how can you still work for them?”

“I told you before, I’m doing it for him. You cadets were always the most important thing to him, and I don’t think I could live with myself if I just abandoned everything we both loved.” Adam gave him a watery smile. Scratching at the back of his neck, Adam sighed and the tension in his shoulders dissipated. “Well, that’s all the groceries. I’ll probably be back in two weeks to bring you some more.”

Adam gave him a subtle nod and started walking towards the door.

“Adam?” Keith called out, suddenly standing from the couch. “I don’t think I would mind it if you stopped by before two weeks. You know, if you wanted.”

“I would like that.”  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> I’ve been so desperate to feel close to you that I’ve invited Adam to hang out at the shack if he wants. It’s nice to be able to speak with someone about you. To reminisce about everything.
> 
> Adam doesn’t believe it was pilot error either, but he also doesn’t believe that you’re alive.
> 
> I can see how much I worry him with my faith in your survival. I think he’s waiting for the “other shoe to drop” so to say. Like one day, my resolve will break and I’ll become a feral thing that tries to dig up your grave with my bare hands just for evidence.
> 
> But even though I know it seems improbable,you’ve always done the impossible, so I don’t think hoping for a miracle is too much to ask for.
> 
> — K

  
Keith chewed on the end of his pen after signing the letter.

If he closed his eyes tightly enough and swallowed back the emotions that constantly bubbled at the back of his throat, he could feel the call. It was a faint thing. He was sure that it had been what had drawn him to his shack in the first place. It called him to journey deeper into the desert and towards the mountain range to the east.

The pull was gentle and warm like a gust of wind that cooled the sweat on his skin while he scavenged across the dunes.

Maybe that was the exact reason why he hadn’t explored further. The way the call resonated in his chest reminded him so much of Shiro, of the unending compassion and warmth, but there was something so significantly different about it. An unfamiliarity that Keith couldn’t identify.

As much as he wanted to trek into the unforgiving sands, desperate to find what was calling him, he was terrified. He couldn’t stop himself from hoping that Shiro was waiting for him at the origin of the pull.

If Shiro wasn’t there, it would destroy the fragile sense of peace he’d developed. And Keith wasn’t sure if writing letters would be enough to stop him from wandering the desert until the sun bleached his bones and the sands devoured his body.  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
>  Shiro,
> 
> I had a dream about you last night. It’s actually a recurring one, and it’s both the best and the worst dream I’ve ever had.
> 
> We go on a hoverbike ride over the ridge. After we jump off the cliff’s edge, you always look back at me and smile like I’m your entire world. When we finally stop because our hands are cramping and dust has fogged up our glasses, you point out the sunset. It’s brilliant, crimson and peach and it colors the silhouettes of the mountains to a navy blue.
> 
> I say, “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”  
>  And you agree, but instead of looking at the sunset, you’re looking at me.
> 
> I tip my head back and laugh, but it’s hoarse because you’ve been making me laugh all afternoon. It doesn’t feel strange to smile and laugh and enjoy the sunset, because you make everything easy. You make it easy to be me.
> 
> And then you lean in to kiss me.
> 
> But I always wake up. I wake up parched and desperate and longing. I long to know what your kiss feels like even if it’s just an illusion.
> 
> It’s the best and the worst dream, because it feels so real. 
> 
> — K

  
  



	8. An Imitation, An Imposter (Shiro)

**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**I don’t feel like myself anymore.**

**And it’s not just the arm or the new shocking white section of my hair. It’s not the newly defined muscles or the scars that litter my body. It’s not my dampened sense of smell from the still healing wound across my nose.**

**It’s something deeper that’s wrong.**

**It’s me.**

**I feel like I’ve been shifted out of alignment. Like my entire life I’ve been on a single axis, orbiting around my desires and aspirations. But now, I’m in an entirely different solar system. I’m tilted and warped and no one would recognize this shadow of myself.**

**I’m an imitation. A clone. Like one of those old sci-fi movies, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” and I’m just an impostor.**

**It makes me scared to wish for home, because what if I’ve changed too much to ever fit back into society? What if I’m so accustomed to this world of war and greed and bloody entertainment that I’ll never be civilized again? What if I’m trapped like this forever?**

**T.S.**

  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**I know it sounds stupid with all of my other worries, but I can’t help it. I’m so worried that, even if I do return, you’ll leave me. That the one person I want more than anything — more than my freedom, more than my sanity — won’t even be my friend after knowing everything I’ve done.**

**Maybe it would be easier to lose in the arena than face you again.**

**T.S.**

  


~☾~☾~☾~

  
Shiro crouched in the corner of his cell, one hand clutching the communicator to his chest and the prosthesis braced against the wall. One metal finger tapped out a familiar rhythm, matching the sentries steps and shift changes. But there were footsteps that didn’t fall into that pattern. Repeatedly. They would pause outside his door, and through the bars of the window, Shiro could catch a glimpse of golden eyes through the slits of their helmet.

But after a second’s hesitation, they would be marching off down the hallway.

He hadn’t been able to write Keith in days — constantly on edge about the new curious guard and too anxious to turn his back on the cell door.

Instead, he sat and listened and learned.  


~☾~☾~☾~

  


**To: Keith Kogane**

**From: Takashi Shirogane**

  
**Keith,**

**Something has changed here. I don’t know how to describe it. Like a subtle change in the pitch of an instrument that only those who are accustomed to it will notice.**

**I think something is going to happen, but I don’t know what.**

**I haven’t been able to sleep or eat. I’m barely able to write this letter to you between the guard’s new patrol patterns. But I hardly seem to be the only one on edge.**

**They’ve pulled me into the arena three times in the last seven days. That’s the most frequent I’ve ever experienced. Each time is more vicious than the last. The most recent, they set five of us free in the arena at one time. It was a bloodbath. And of course, I only had my arm to defend me.**

**When it was all over, Haggar was standing at the emperor’s side with this wicked look on her face.**

**Whatever happens, I’m just hoping it starts before she can get her hands on me again.**

**T.S.**


	9. Burning Bright Blue (Keith)

>   
> Shiro,
> 
> Knowing you feels like a dream.
> 
> I feel like I’ve been living in this barren waste land for too long. I almost can’t remember your mischievous smile or the sound of your snorting laughter or ———
> 
> What if you really were a dream? You always felt like someone who was too good to be part of my life. ~~No one —~~ no one has ever believed in me like you did. You gave me a chance, a second and a third and a fourth, when no one else would even look at me.
> 
> It all seems so much better than I could dream of, which makes me know that it’s real.
> 
> ~~But what if that’s all you’ll ever be: just a remnant of the best time of my life?~~
> 
> — K

  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
> Shiro,
> 
> I’ve found something.
> 
> ~~Something~~ Something’s been calling me out into the desert. I know that I mentioned something like it in earlier letters: about how I wanted to wander off into the desert and never return. ~~But this~~ This was something different.
> 
> I finally took my hoverbike and started scouring the desert until I found it.
> 
> It’s an ancient cave with paintings of a mechanical lion. It’s beautiful and really old. I almost didn’t find it, because the entrance was just about completely concealed by a rockslide that didn’t look like it was from the last century. I had to crawl over top and move some boulders to get in, but wow it was beautiful.
> 
> I’ll doodle some of the images in the margins of this letter so maybe you’ll understand.
> 
> When I was there, the pulling in my chest seemed to calm. I swear that for the first time since the news of the Kerberos mission, I felt peaceful. It was like all of my fears were assuaged, like I could finally imagine you returning to ~~me~~ even though you weren’t there. I guess I never mentioned that some naive part of me hoped that you would be at the origin of the call. Like through some magic power, you would be safe here on Earth.
> 
> ~~But you weren’t, and I’m so desperate to be with you that I would journey to the cave every day just to feel like you were near.~~
> 
> — K

  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
> Shiro,
> 
> You have to know by now. I think you even knew at the Garrison, but if you didn’t, I’m sure all of these letters spelled it out.
> 
> I love you. Have loved you since I was fifteen. And I’m afraid that I don’t know how to stop ~~, even if you might never come back.~~
> 
> — K

  


~☀~☀~☀~

  


>   
> Shiro,
> 
> Something’s coming.
> 
> Wow, this sounds even crazier than my usual letters. But the cave drawings, they seem to predict something arriving — like a shooting star, but it isn’t shaped like that. If I’ve done my calculation correct, it should be here next week.
> 
> I don’t know if it’s true. Maybe it’ll be like the Mayan’s predicting the end of the world in 2012, based off of some old relics with no impact on the present. But I can’t stop myself from hoping that maybe it’ll be something that can help me find you. I haven’t given up hope. Just as surely as I felt the pull to the cave, I feel drawn to you and the stars.
> 
> I can’t do anything else but believe.
> 
> — K

  


~☀~☀~☀~

  
The star streaked across the sky like a comet, like a missile, like space debris burning through the atmosphere and threatening to crash into the earth.

Keith stood on the small porch of the shack, gaze tilted towards the sky. His eyes traced the path of the comet, burning bright blue and brilliant against the darkened sky. There was the boom of the sound barrier breaking and the crackle of heat that Keith swore he felt even at this distance.

His heart was leaping in his chest, even as he stood still, surrounded by the desert air that was warm and familiar after a year in its embrace.

This was his chance to do _something_ other than wallow in the shadow of Shiro’s loss or write and plan and hope. This was his chance — his opportunity — to do something for Shiro.

Loading the rest of the flash grenades onto the back of his hoverbike, Keith pulled his bandana up to cover his mouth and nose and took off into the desert.

“I’m coming, Shiro,” Keith whispered to himself before leaning over the handlebars and opening the throttle.  
  



	10. I promise (Shiro)

Shiro was sure that he had been through crazier things (like learning aliens exist, being captured by them, and being used as entertainment in their gladiator arena). But the last twenty four hours might top even that.

To watch his first sunrise in more than a year and a half with Keith standing proudly at his side — if it wasn’t for the strange weight of his new prosthetic hand and the warmth of Keith’s palm on his shoulder, he would've sworn it was a dream.

The memories from the Galra prison were fuzzy, and he was sure that he didn’t want to remember them. But the alien communicator dug into his side, tucked into the folds of the new clothes Keith had given him. He wanted to press the communicator into Keith’s hands and act on everything he’d wished for in that prison. To kiss Keith, to treasure the warmth of his arms, to tell him of every moment that Keith’s memory steadied him. To ensure that this wasn’t a dream his mind had produced while coming down from Haggar’s medications.

But the way Keith looked at him like he had strung all the stars in the sky, made every word catch in his throat. So much time had passed since Keith had left the Garrison, and it was evident on his features. There were dark bags under his eyes and dirt caked beneath his fingernails, and he wore a weariness in his expression that Shiro hadn’t seen since Keith had joined the Garrison.

So instead of pulling Keith to his chest and acting on every desire, he said, “It’s good to be back.”

Because it was.  


~☾~☾~☾~

  
The next twenty four hours flew by in a crazy series of events that Shiro could definitely place at the top of his list of “Craziest Things that have Ever Happened to Me.”

They took off in a robotic lion, soaring through the stars and into a portal looking like something out of an out-dated science fiction movie. They landed on an unknown planet in an uncharted area of space, discovered and awakened ten thousand year old aliens, and eventually fought off one of the tormentors from Shiro’s past.

Yes, that definitely topped the list.

Shiro settled into his new bed in the Castle of Lions and sighed deeply. He finally let himself catalog all of the unfamiliar sensations: the quiet hum of his robotic arm, the shock of white hair that plumed above his forehead, the jumpiness that came with every single loud sound or siren. Draping an arm across his eyes, Shiro let out a sobbing exhale.

Before he could truly mourn the loss of everything he had and everything he had once been, a knock sounded on his door.

Inhaling deeply, Shiro pulled himself from bed and dusted off the sleeves of his new shirt. He squared his shoulders and pulled on all of the military training the Garrison had drilled into him.

He pressed the release on the door, expecting to see one of the younger cadets at the threshold with another million questions for him, but he should’ve known it would be Keith. It was strange to reconcile the memory of the young boy with the sight before him. His shoulders had broadened in the past year and a half, and his face had lost the last of its boyishness. His hair was longer than regulation, dipping into his eyes and settling into the hollows of his collarbones.

He was beautiful — more beautiful than Shiro’s memories could do justice.

“Keith,” he exhaled, and his shoulders drooped. He had never been able to keep up pretenses around Keith: not as the Garrison’s Golden boy, not when him and Adam had broken up, and not now when the exhaustion settled like cement in his bones.

“Hey,” Keith shuffled and fumbled his hands, and Shiro finally let his gaze fall from Keith’s beautiful face to the stack of papers in his grasp. They were a bundle of mismatched things, with burned and torn edges. The pages were stained and discolored into a tea-stained hue.

“Did you want to come in?” Shiro motioned behind him to the open bedroom that still held the sterile scent of the cleaning materials Coran had given them all.

Keith shook his head, gazing down at the papers in his grasp. His fingers curled a little tighter and crumpled the edges. “No. I, uh, I just came to give you these.” His voice faltered as he held out the pile of pages without meeting Shiro’s gaze. “It was — well, I’m pretty sure this is obvious, or will be obvious when you look at them, but —”

Shiro reached out his right hand, but before he could touch the fragile pages with his prosthetic fingers, his hand fell back to his side. His left hand rose to feel the worn, delicate edges of the paper. He wasn’t following what Keith was attempting to say at all, “What—”

“They’re letters!” Keith blurted, eyes finally meeting Shiro’s — wide and almost purple in the faint blue hue of the Castle’s lights. “I wrote them for you while you were gone. I just — I just thought you should have them.”

Keith practically shoved them against Shiro’s chest and gave a weird salute, something that looked like a half-aborted motion from the Garrison, before he disappeared behind the soft whistle of the closing door.

Shiro juggled the stack of papers and slowly walked to his bed, sinking down on the edge.

Pulling the first letter from the stack, he read.

>   
>  ~~Dear~~ Shiro,
> 
> I’m sorry. ~~I got kicked out~~ I left the Garrison. I know you risked so much for me to be able to attend, but I just ~~couldn’t be in a~~ couldn’t.  
>  I hope you’ll understand.
> 
> —- Keith

His prosthetic fingers curled into the paper before he could even think to stop them. Keith had written letters like this? Dozens of letters just to him?

An emotion that Shiro couldn’t describe swelled in his chest — a burdensome weight that he couldn’t put a name to. Shiro pulled the next letter off the pile, reading all of Keith’s handwritten words. He searched past the scratched out lines and sought the meanings that Keith hadn’t wanted him to see.

With each letter, Shiro felt closer to Keith, felt the same pain echo in his chest and from the communicator trapped within his pocket.

As the last letter fell from his hands, Shiro stood and ran from his bedroom.

Keith wasn’t in his room or the training room, so Shiro sprinted around the castleship. His heart raced in his chest, a beat so loud it drowned out the sound of his footsteps. Pidge sat perched on a couch in the common area. Her eyes flashed to him with a curious tilt to her head, but Shiro didn’t have time to answer questions.

He finally found Keith standing before a large window; it covered the length of the wall with glass so clear it looked like they were standing atop the world. The stars glittered on the horizon, fading in the glowing light of Arus’ sun.

“Keith,” Shiro breathed while he watched Keith’s shoulders visibly tense at the sound of his voice. The boy didn’t turn to look at him, so Shiro continued, “I read your letters, and I—”

“I know you don’t feel the same.” Keith’s voice was weak, a fragile thing that reminded Shiro of their nights on the roof of the Garrison, pointing out constellations and whispering delicate secrets into the safety of the darkness. Keith turned to face him with watery eyes and a watery smile. “And I understand if you’re ashamed of me after everything that I did while you were gone, but I —”

Before Keith could say anything more, Shiro closed the distance between them and pressed his lips gently to Keith’s. It was a chaste thing, a mere peck, but it burned with the weight of a million letters and a million unspoken desires.

Shiro pulled back just enough that he could see Keith’s expression, catch the wide-eyed shock and faint upturn of his lips. “I love you too.” Euphoria burned through his veins as he watched the realization settle across Keith’s features.

Keith pressed forward and stole any left space between them. His hands twined in the front of Shiro’s vest as if to hold him close — as if Shiro would ever dream of escaping.

“You do?”

“Keith, you were the only thing that kept me together. And —” Shiro swallowed thickly, because somehow presenting Keith with his most vulnerable thoughts felt like a larger leap than kissing the man he’d been dreaming about for so long, “— you weren’t the only one to write letters.”

He tugged one of Keith’s gloved hands from its grip on his vest. Pulling the communicator from his pocket, he placed it into Keith’s palm.

“I wrote so many letters to you,” Shiro said softly, voice thin and watery. “I wouldn’t have made it through all of this if it hadn’t been for you, but I understand if you don’t feel the same after you’ve read all of these. If you don’t—”

“Shiro,” Keith’s voice cut him off, but by the softness in his gaze, it was obvious there was no anger in his tone, “nothing could make me stop loving you.”

“But you don’t know what I did. _What I’ve become_ ,” Shiro’s voice cracked on the words. His prosthesis whirred a little louder as his fingers curled into themselves. A dimmed sensation of pain traipsed up his arm, a faint warning that his hand could shatter beneath its own force.

Keith glanced down at the communicator, and his voice was so quiet that Shiro almost missed it, “Doesn’t matter.”

“Keith, at least read the letters first so you know what —”

“It doesn’t matter!” Keith snapped his head up and caught Shiro in the heat of his glare. There was a fierceness to his expression that Shiro was unfamiliar with, something forged in the depths of the desert and the bottomless chasm of loss. “Nothing can change how I feel about you. I’ve loved you since I was fifteen. I loved you when you were with Adam. And I continued to love you when everyone said you were dead. So believe me when I say that nothing in this universe will ever make me stop loving you.”

Before Shiro could respond, Keith surged forward and threw his arms around Shiro’s neck, returning the kiss. It was nothing chaste, nothing soft or sweet. It was a desperate thing that Shiro wanted to keep preserved in his memory forever.

A moan sounded at the back of his throat as his hands dug into Keith’s hips. Desperation saturated the air around them as Keith wound fingers into Shiro’s hair. Shiro followed suit and dipped just the tips of his fingers beneath the hem of Keith’s shirt. He savored the warmth of Keith’s body pressed to his and sought to memorize the searing heat of Keith’s lips.

When they finally parted, Shiro breathed heavily and let his eyes roam Keith’s features — memorizing the gentleness to his gaze and the soft flush to his cheeks.

“I always knew you were alive,” Keith breathed against Shiro’s lips and a shiver traced the length of his spine. “I never — I never doubted that I would find you. But I’m sorry that you couldn’t stay home, that you’ve been dragged into an intergalactic war.”

Shiro couldn’t stop the soft laughter that huffed from his chest. His hands tightened on Keith’s waist as he stitched up the distance between their lips. “Keith, you are my home. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side.”

“You won’t leave again?” Keith’s voice trembled and his fingertips dug with a bruising force as if to test the sureness of Shiro’s hold.

“I promise.” Shiro kissed Keith again, and he swore that he was already addicted to Keith, to the warmth of his kisses, to the wholeness he felt beside him, to the peace that settled within him. He pulled back just enough to kiss Keith’s forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his nose, everywhere he could reach. “I’m eternally yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shout out and thank you to Quantum (@quantumabyssmal on twitter) for being the most amazing beta!! Please go give her some love because this piece wouldn't have been the same without her!!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! (≧◡≦) ♡


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